


Centrefold

by scoottt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoottt/pseuds/scoottt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds a compromising picture of Cas. Cas says it's not him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Centrefold

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic based on the song Centrefold by J. Geils Band!
> 
> It was prompted and requested by my lovely friend, Elizabeth (ladiesloveduranduran on Tumblr).

  
_My blood runs cold_   
_My memory has just been sold_   
_My angel is the centerfold_   
_Angel is the centerfold_   


“Cas, what the fuck is this?”

Dean fixes the man with a hard stare, holding something out to him. Yet, the other is oblivious to that, asking, “What is what?”

“ _This._ ” The elder Winchester waves it around a bit before he hands the angel the object, watching as Castiel takes a moment to look it over, identify it – a magazine – and then as the colour washes out of his face, draining like someone pulled the plug from a bathtub.

“I,” Cas’ brow furrows as he lets his sentence trail off, before picking it back up again with a shake of his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s a magazine, Dean. You know that.”

“No shit, I know that!” Dean replies, crossing his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. No fucking duh it was a magazine. What was in it was worthy of inquiry. “Cas. What's on the _pages_?”

Cas holds the magazine closer to himself, squinting his eyes a bit as he scrutinises the page. He remains like this for a minute or two, ignoring the irritated, impatient man waiting for his response. The angel replies after slowly putting the magazine down on the table beside him, open to the pages he was observing. “Well, it looks like a picture.” He remains unmoved as Dean lets out a frustrated sigh, his poker face back over his expression, colour still disappeared – a dead giveaway to the fact that he’s definitely not over whatever this is.

“Yeah, Cas. I know,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on his crossed arms. “I know it’s a picture. What’s it a picture _of_?”

He watches as Cas returns his attention to the magazine that is spread on the table. The shorter man’s expression is digging him into a pretty deep hole. “It appears to be a naked man.”

“ _And_?”

“He kind of looks like me.”

“That’s because he is you! He _is_ you, Cas!” Dean’s hands fly up in a telltale sign of being fucking-frustrated-as-all-hell. He only lowers them when he points to the picture, and he notices how Cas flinches away as though he’s going to hit him. Instantly, he feels his insides knot. “...uh, hey, Cas. No, it’s not like I’m mad. It’s just... what the fuck are you doing in a porn magazine?”

“What are you doing with a porn magazine in the first place?” he questions defensively, fidgeting a bit nervously. 

Dean looks taken aback for a moment, but he quickly shoves it off. “That’s beside the point, dude. Why are you the freakin’ centrefold?” He motions again towards the magazine, towards the picture of Cas – or supposedly not-Cas – stretched out suggestively on a luxurious-looking king-size bed. Naked. Completely naked. It suddenly becomes difficult to swallow, heat pooling in his abdomen, and Dean has to look away from the picture, away from Cas. 

“That must have been Jimmy.”

“No, no, it’s definitely not Jimmy, dude.” Gaining the courage – well, self-control – Dean looks back to Cas, searching in the blue depths of his eyes, trying to weasel the truth out of him. “That’s the latest issue. Came out last Friday. Pretty sure Jimmy hasn’t been Jimmy for a few years now.”

“That’s odd, because that’s definitely not m– ”

Dean cuts Cas off with a kiss, grasping the sides of the other’s head and pulling him towards him. It’s rough, sloppy, and their teeth clash, but goddamn, does it feel good. The Winchester only parts from the other’s lips when he needs to breathe, gasping for air and pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Bullshit, Cas.”

The angel only looks at him with wide eyes, just standing there and drowning in his ridiculous trench coat. It takes a while before he even attempts to speak. Swallowing roughly, he fights for the right words to say. “...if I say that it is me, will we do that more often?”

“Hell yes.”


End file.
